


After the Fall

by sequelhook



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Depression, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, mild dirty talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-08 12:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequelhook/pseuds/sequelhook
Summary: After the government is overthrown and Europe falls into Dystopian like chaos, Sherlock thought his intelligence and cleverness would be enough to help him survive in the new dog-eat-dog world. However, with no allies and a general lack of social skills no one will welcome the eccentric man into their group. To Sherlock’s surprise, John Watson, former doctor and veteran from Afghanistan, as well as current leader of the greater London faction is perfectly willing to accept Sherlock into their fold. As long as Sherlock becomes his concubine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was requested by an anonymous requester on tumblr.
> 
> my tumblr is sequelhook(.)tumblr(.)com if you want to get in contact with me.

Sherlock had always been an outcast. It was just something he was used to. His intelligence, lack of social skills and abrasive personality tended to be a turn off for the other people around him. He never let it bother him however. Companionship was useless to him. Love was a disadvantage. People were stupid and boring. They would only ever slow him down. When it came to Sherlock’s work alone was all he needed.

Sherlock could have never been more wrong.

When the rumblings and whispers first started, Sherlock didn’t even notice. Politics, everything involving the ordinary, was completely boring to Sherlock so he ignored it. It wasn’t until his brother Mycroft showed up on his doorstep that Sherlock actually stopped to pay attention. It was the fear in Mycroft’s eyes that finally made him listen. If the iceman himself was shaken then the world was truly falling apart around them. According to Mycroft a coup was about to take place and there was a 93% chance of this one succeeding.

It was very well organized apparently.

Seeing the inevitable fall of the British government, all the worlds’ governments Mycroft had crossed sides and teamed up with the rebels. He’d been working with them for the past two years knowing that him and Sherlock would be left unharmed and would be allowed to live in their family home as high ranking officers.

Unfortunately, Sherlock was stubborn to a fault. Even though he should accept his brother’s help, he wasn’t going to start now. He refused his brothers help even when the world was falling down around him, convinced he could make it on his own. His intelligence was enough; his ingenuity was enough to last him for the few months of fall out. However, the rebel’s plans hadn’t worked out as perfectly as they wanted. Europe was splinted. Chaos rained even a year, two years, five years after the fighting first started. Different fractions controlled key areas but the majority of people were left to wonder. Hunting and gathering, moving from place to place like some sort of apocalypse. In this dog-eat-dog world, people stole from each other, killed. The only way to make it was to have others you could trust to watch your back.

And Sherlock had no one.

He tried. Just like he had in his early life but just like every other time, he was rejected. He still had bruises from the last time he had come across a small faction and had been beaten. Sherlock was used to being thin but now he felt like he was constantly on the brink of starvation. He barely ever managed a meager meal every other week or so. Anything else was always stolen. Without a groups protection he couldn’t defend himself.

The worst thing however, the one thing he never thought he would be crippled by was the loneliness. He missed the sounds of London, the sounds of cars and people. Nowadays he was always surrounded by silence, which allowed his thoughts to be too loud.  Sherlock always lived on his own but now more than ever he craved warmth and affection. He didn’t want to go about his days in silence and he didn’t want his only interaction with others to be violent. He just wanted some sense of normalcy back.

* * *

 

Sherlock never thought that a bubbling stream would be worth more than anything he currently owned. The flowing water provided him something to drink, somewhere to bath, and if he was lucky food. This appeared to be one of those lucky occasions.

The net he built had managed to catch a decent amount of live fish. In fact, if he built a small pool for the live once and figured out adequate storage for the meat, Sherlock could make these last him a while.

Sherlock found a section of the stream where the shore made a “c” shape and used rocks from around the area to dam off the water. When he was done, he made the rock wall higher than the water line then spent a few hours highering the water level of the pool. Once Sherlock was satisfied, he went back to where the fish were and used a bucket he scavenged to carry them over to the pool. Sherlock was about to pour the fish in the pool when the familiar silence was broken by the sound of a twig snapping. Sherlock paused for a second then tried not to make it obvious he had heard anything. Without looking around him, he lowered the bucket to the ground and slowly reached for the knife in his belt. He took in a deep breath then in a flash Sherlock drew the knife and turned around.

“Don’t move Holmes!” A group of at least ten men and women appeared from the trees. The man who had spoken had a shotgun aimed right at Sherlock’s chest. The other’s had guns as well. They were obviously a local rebel faction. Only the rebels could afford to have such weapons. Sherlock was clearly outmatched.

Sherlock slowly bent down then dropped the knife on the ground. The man across from him smiled when Sherlock stood and lifted his hands back in the air. He approached at a leisurely pace and kicked the knife towards a woman holding a pistol. She picked it up and placed it in her pocket. Sherlock had to force himself to keep his face neutral. That knife was the only tool he had and it was his only protection

“Quiet the catch you have here.” The man peered into the bucket then smiled up at Sherlock. “That could feed a small group quite nicely. It would be a shame if all this went to waste.” The man removed his hand from the barrel of the gun to signal a few people forward. Desperate not to lose yet another meal Sherlock spoke.

“Perhaps I can offer you some assistance.” The three men who had begun to step forward stopped. “You’re lot is hungry and tired. Clearly I have demonstrated my hunting capabilities.” Sherlock swallowed passed the lump in his throat. He could feel his arms trembling but it wasn’t from strain or fear. The man in front of him stared blankly for a moment before he suddenly let out a snorting laugh, the others behind him were quick to follow.

“No way Holmes. We would never take a freak like you.” Sherlock shut his eyes and lowered his head in defeat. When he opened his eyes a moment later, they were still laughing. When Sherlock spoke, again he kept his eyes trained on the ground. His voice was so quiet the others almost missed that he had said anything.

“Then please don’t take all of them.” Sherlock clenched his jaw as he locked eyes with the man in front of him. “Please.” The man stepped over to Sherlock until they were practically nose-to-nose. Sherlock kept his eyes locked with him the entire time. The man lifted his chin to stare down at Sherlock before he sneered revealing his yellowing teeth behind his parted lips.

“You’re pathetic Holmes.” The man held his gun with one hand so he could slam his fist into Sherlock’s gut. Sherlock’s eyes widened and a pained wheezing escaped him as all the air was forced out of his lungs at once. When Sherlock fell to his knees, he pressed his forehead against the muddy dirt while he tried to get his breath back. He barely registered movement around him until a steel-toed boot smashed him a few inches under his left pectoral.

Sherlock cried out, instinctively rolling away from the pain. He curled into a shaking ball and covered his head while he waited for more abuse. Sherlock could barely tell if there was anyone around anymore. By the number of footfalls, it appeared that the majority of the group had already retreated with only two people staying behind. One of those two was currently standing above Sherlock, chuckling.

“See you later freak.” Sherlock grunted as the voice delivered one more kick to his gut before retreating. Sherlock didn’t open his eyes or move until he was in complete silence again.

Sherlock whimpered as he rolled to his stomach and slowly lifted himself to his knees. He held his hand over his ribs, which were already throbbing. The last time he had been beaten, he was sure one of his ribs was cracked; surely, now it must be broken. Sherlock looked at his surroundings, a lump forming in his throat. The bucket with the fish was gone, his net was gone, and they even went to the trouble of knocking over his dam. Hours of work wasted.

Sherlock leaned forward once again placing his forehead into the ground. His eyes where clenched tight as he shook his head side to side, creating a divot in the dirt. Everything hurt and Sherlock was so hungry. He cursed every moment he had ever taken food for granted. He could practically smell his old land lady’s kitchen in 221B. He could almost feel the warmth of her oven as he stood in her kitchen. He lived there for a year before this all started and every day he thought of her constant doting as nothing more than a humorous nuisance. Now he missed it more than ever. Sherlock never thought in a million years that he would crave her mothering so much.

A pained whimper escaped Sherlock’s lips that morphed into a stuttering sob. He smashed he face further into the ground heaving and shaking until his ribs pulsed with pain. He didn’t stop until the sun dipped so low it was practically out of sight.

When Sherlock was sure he managed to push his crumbling pieces back together, he gingerly lifted himself off the ground and hobbled to the cave he had been calling home for the last six months. Sherlock went straight to the back wall and loosened a large piece of stone. Hidden behind it was a large box with the only thing from his old life that remained untarnished. Sherlock held the box tightly to his chest and hobbled back out of the cave.

He couldn’t stay there anymore.

He knew exactly where he needed to go. He’s known for a while. The only thing stopping him at this point was guilt and the knowledge that he probably wasn’t welcome anymore. Sherlock walked all night fully knowing that he might be dead in the morning and he honestly didn’t care.

* * *

 

Based on the position of the sun it had to be close to ten in the morning when Sherlock finally arrived at the end of a familiar drive way. Familiar only because of the “Holmes” plaque welded into a large stone near the road but everything else about the front gate was different. The gate was larger and the elegant doors were replaced with two giant bricks of steel. Barbed wire ran along the top of the fence and there was clearly a walkway on top. Sherlock could see eyes staring down at him as he approached. One of those eyes held her pistol over the edge of the wall and aimed it down at Sherlock who held his hands up and stopped in his tracks.

“You’re on private property! Take one more step and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes!”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft Holmes should be here may I speak with him.”

“Nice try mate. You ain’t Sherlock Holmes. Back away now and go back where you came from.” Sherlock took a step forward but stopped when the women raised her gun higher in the air.

“Please! Mycroft can confirm my identity! If you just-” When a shot rang out and bounced off the pavement next to Sherlock’s foot he stumbled back then fell onto his backside.

“I’m not gunna warn you again! Get lost or get shot!” Sherlock stared at the woman above him for a long time. This was his last resort. This was the only place left for him to go. If he turned, back now he knew exactly what he was turning back to and Sherlock couldn’t live like that anymore.

Sherlock slowly stood up. He kept his eyes on the woman above him then moved to step forward.

“Stop!” Sherlock and the women both turned towards the other voice. Sherlock watched her as she looked back at him then disappeared behind the top of the gate.

Sherlock let out a breath and clenched his trembling hands at his sides. He watched the gate, his eyes darting back and forth trying to find any movement but for a long time, there was nothing. Then suddenly, a steel door hidden off to the side was opening. Sherlock watched wide eyed as Mycroft stepped out. He approached Sherlock in slow strides before stopping right in front of him. His eyes scanned Sherlock’s entire body, appraising his unkempt and tangled hair; bruised and muddy face, torn and dirty clothes. With a sigh, Mycroft’s cold eyes went soft.

“Oh Sherlock, what have you done to yourself?” Sherlock curled in on himself, a sob escaping his lips as his entire body shook.

“I’m sorry.” Mycroft gingerly took a hold of Sherlock’s shoulders and led him inside. He said nothing, only offering the comfort of his hands lightly squeezing in order to make Sherlock feel safe. Once inside, Mycroft sat Sherlock down on a cushioned bench and sat next to him.

“You were gone a long time brother mine. I was afraid you were dead.” Sherlock’s breathe stuttered. He held the box he had brought with him closer to his chest and rested his chin against it. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure I was welcome.”

“You were always welcome in our home baby brother.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft who had a small sad smile. Sherlock smiled back then broke eye contact. In their Holmesian, way the rest of the conversation was had in that brief silence.

_Thank you._

_No thanks necessary brother mine._

With a sigh Mycroft stood. He straightened the vest of his suit then called over a young woman who was just cleaning a table.

“Please escort this gentleman to one of the free rooms so he may have a wash.” Mycroft turned back to Sherlock.” A doctor will be sent to your room and you will be provided with new clothes and shoes.” Mycroft extended his hand towards the box in Sherlock’s hand a small smile forming on his face. “I can take care of that personally to ensure it sees the utmost care.” Sherlock tightened his grip on the box in his hands before handing it over to Mycroft who held the object as if it was a bomb ready to go off at any moment.

Mycroft gave a light nod to Sherlock before retreating down the hall and through an open door way. After several seconds of silence, the young woman cleared her throat to get Sherlock’s attention. He was still staring at where Mycroft had just gone. When Sherlock turned to look at her, she extended a hand towards the staircase behind her.

“Please follow me Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock nodded and stood with a grunt. He followed the young woman back to the stairs. Sherlock’s pace was slow and painful. He held on to the railing like a crutch all the way up while the young woman waited patiently for him at the top.

She led him down the hall a little ways to one of the empty bedrooms. As Sherlock limped down the long familiar corridor, he could still remember walking through the same halls so many years ago. Despite the new occupants, his former home still had its same appearance and its same smell. Mycroft must have worked hard to make sure their family home remained unspoiled. Sherlock had to admit he was grateful for that. The familiar surroundings were a comfort.

When the young woman finally stopped, Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts. He realized with some amusement that out of all the rooms she could have led him to she picked his own. Sherlock stepped inside the room and stopped just inside. Like the rest of his home, his room wasn’t much different.  The sheets on his bed weren’t the same obviously but all the furniture was the same. The large bookshelf remained bursting with books and completely undamaged.

“Will you be needing assistance in the bath Mr. Holmes?” Sherlock turned towards the woman who was still standing by the door. When he shook his head, she smiled at him. “I’ll be back shortly with one of our doctors.” She quietly closed the door leaving Sherlock to his own devises. After another look around the room, Sherlock let out a sigh and limped towards the attached bathroom.

Luckily, the bath was large and easy to get into. Sherlock placed his hand on a wall for support as he toed off his old shoes. He removed his filthy button shirt and torn up trousers before throwing them in a random corner of the room. With a grunt, Sherlock sat down at the edge of the tub and began running the water. He made it as hot as he could possibly bear then stepped in.

A shutter ran up Sherlock’s entire body as he sat down in the hot water. He couldn’t remember the last time his bath hadn’t been ice cold. He took a moment to enjoy the heat before he dunked his head underneath the water and began washing off all the dirt that had attached to him in the last few days. He used shampoo and conditioner to clean the nest that was once his shinny curly locks then dunked his head in the water again. Sherlock was just cleaning under his fingernails when a knock on the bathroom door startled him.

“Mr. Holmes? The doctor is here to check your injuries and I brought some clothes for you to put on.”

Sherlock let out a sigh and slowly pulled himself out of the water. He toweled himself off then pulled on a robe hanging on the back of the door. When he went back into the bedroom, the young woman was holding a set of clothes with a pair of shoes on top. When Sherlock’s eyes moved from her to the doctor standing next to her he stopped in his tracks.

“Mike Stamford?” The large man with round classes gave Sherlock a small smile and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Sherlock.” Sherlock blinked a few times, finding himself stumbling through his next words.

“What are you doing here?”

“Five years ago an old mate of mine asked me to run his medical team. I’ve been here ever since.” Mike set his medical kit on the bed and stepped towards Sherlock. He looked him up and down and let out a sad sigh. “If you don’t mind me saying Sherlock, you look awful.”

Sherlock blinked a few times then suddenly let out a laugh. He didn’t know why he was laughing and Mike’s startled expression made it apparent he didn’t expect Sherlock to laugh either but he just couldn’t help it. For some reason seeing someone he knew and hearing that just made him feel human again.

However, Sherlock regretted the laugh a second later when a sharp pain in his ribs made him flinch. Mike grabbed him by his arm and helped him over to the bed so he could sit down.

“Looks like it will be a full check up for you.”

To Sherlock’s surprise, none of his ribs were cracked or broken but he was definitely bruised badly. After checking, him out Mike gave him some medication for his pain and left a cooler with some ice packs next to his bed before he left Sherlock to get dressed.

Sherlock was just finishing buttoning his shirt when a knock came to the bedroom door. He let out a sigh walked over before slowly pulling it open. Mycroft stood on the other side holding something in his hands. He held it up for Sherlock to see as a small smile formed on his face.

“Here you are brother mine. Your coat is as good as new.” Sherlock took it in his hands and held the familiar material close to his chest. He took in a deep breath through his nose then let it out through his mouth.

“Thank you Mycroft.” Mycroft said nothing and simply nodded. When Sherlock stepped into the room to hang the coat Mycroft followed him.

“If you like I can send the barber here later. I’m sure that will be an improvement over shaving with a knife.” Sherlock unconsciously ran his hand over his cheek. “But before that-” Mycroft paused a moment causing Sherlock to turn and look at him. “-there is someone who wishes to speak with you. His name is John Watson. He currently runs this facility. I assured him that you would be a great asset but he still wants to see you for himself.”

“Now I assume.” Mycroft nodded and walked to the door Sherlock following after him. Mycroft led him back down the stairs and down another corridor. It took only a moment for him to realize they were going to what once was the indoor pool. However, when they stepped in the pool was gone. It had been completely removed and the floor was filled in. The large spaced was turned into some sort of conference hall.

As soon as the door shut behind them, the group of people standing around a table looked towards them. Mycroft gestured towards Sherlock who was standing behind him as he spoke.

“Dr. Watson, this is my younger brother Sherlock Holmes.” The addressed man stood up straight before walking around the table. He leaned against it once he was on the other side and crossed his arms. He quickly scanned Sherlock before turning his head slightly to look back at the other people behind him.

“Please give me a moment to speak with Mycroft.” The others quickly cleared out through the back entrance. Once they were gone, Mycroft turned to Sherlock who hadn’t moved.

“Best wait outside a moment.” Sherlock thought to protest but considering the situation, he simply nodded and stepped back outside. He only managed to pace the hall three times before his brother was quickly stepping through the door and shutting it behind him. When Sherlock looked at Mycroft’s expression, he swallowed nervously. His brother was a shade lighter and his hands were clenched at his sides. Mycroft took in a deep breath before he spoke.

“He will allow you to stay here.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and waited for Mycroft to continue. It was clear by his brothers barely contained anger that there was something more. “However… he wants you to provide him,” Mycroft closed his eyes, “sexual pleasure while you are here.”

“What?”

“You heard me perfectly I will not repeat myself!” Mycroft hissed out. He quickly looked around then took in a breath to get a hold of himself. “I will find another solution Sherlock. I will not allow-”

“It’s fine.” Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a long moment before he ran his hand over his face.

“Sherlock-”

“Don’t try and change my mind. I agree to the terms.” Mycroft let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Fine.” Mycroft stepped aside then opened the door for Sherlock. As Sherlock walked through Mycroft didn’t look at him. Inside the room, John was still there but now he was sitting at a desk reading through some paper work. When he looked up and spotted Sherlock across the room, he smirked and stood up from his chair. He walked across the room and extended his hand for Sherlock to take.

“Mr. Holmes. I see you’ve agreed to my terms. Sherlock took his hand and nodded.

“Sherlock please.” John nodded and gestured towards the back door. He led Sherlock through another corridor then opened the door for him to walk through. This room Sherlock didn’t remember. It must have been added to the house later. It was a large bedroom similar to Sherlock’s but plainer.

John closed the door to the room and locked it behind him. He toed off his boots then pulled his shirt off over his head and chucked it onto a chair. He stopped in front of the bed and turned to face Sherlock. His eyes were smoldering as he scanned Sherlock over. John licked his lips then smirked. He gestured with his hand for Sherlock to come closer then began to unbuckle his belt.

“Sherlock swallowed as he walked over. John was shorter then Sherlock but his confidence was overwhelming. It consumed Sherlock and almost made it hard for him to breathe. And even though John was smaller, he was physically strong. His strong arms, broad shoulders, and strong chest made Sherlock feel weak by comparison.

When Sherlock reached him, John placed his wide hands on Sherlock’s shoulder and pushed him to his knees. The sound of John’s zipper lowering rang in Sherlock’s ears as he stared up at the man who was still smirking down at him.

“Open up.” Sherlock looked down when he felt pressure against his lips. The head of John’s thick throbbing cock was pressing against his mouth for entrance. Hesitantly, Sherlock opened his mouth and licked the head.

When he opened his mouth wider and took the whole head into his mouth John let out a groan and threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“That’s it.” Sherlock fisted the material of John’s trousers while he worked his tongue around his member. When he ran his tongue under John’s foreskin, he tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hair. When Sherlock licked at the pre cum at the slit John jerked in his mouth with a grunt.

Sherlock was oddly fascinated by the different reactions and found himself working to pull more from him. With a deep breath through his nose, Sherlock took more of John into his mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside and swallowed when the tip touched the back of his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it.” John tightened his hold in Sherlock’s hair and began thrusting slowly into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock gagged the first few times but was quickly able to adjust to John’s slow jerks. He let John set the pace, swallowing and moving his tongue around the throbbing member.

When John lowered his knees and began thrusting faster Sherlock shut his eyes and held on tightly to John’s thighs. He barely comprehended what was going on around him, but he could still feel the now painful hold John had on his hair and he could hear the grunts leaving John’s mouth through clenched teeth.

“Fuck close. So close.” Sherlock clenched his eyes tighter as his jaw began to throb painfully with John’s jerking hips. John moaned and his body shook as he shot his seed deep down Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock coughed around John’s member causing the main to jerk with a deep moan.

When John’s orgasm subsided, he released Sherlock’s hair allowing Sherlock to pull back and take a deep breath. Sherlock wiped his drool-covered mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed the remainder of John’s seaman that still lingered in his mouth.

With a content sigh, John fell back against the bed then slowly pushed his pants the rest of the way off. He crawled to the top and rested his head against the pillow as he tried to catch his breath. After a moment, he looked up at Sherlock who was still kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed.

“Oi,” John patted the bed. “Don’t just sit there.” Sherlock blinked a moment and stood. He quickly toed off his shoes then climbed in next to John. As soon as he laid down John threw his arm over Sherlock’s chest.

John was asleep in minutes but Sherlock remained awake concentrating on the warmth against his back. It may have seemed like a stupid rash decision but this was exactly why he did it. Sherlock closed his eyes and pushed himself closer to John’s body. It wasn’t out of love or affection but Sherlock had been ostracized to long. He needed this. He needed physical comfort and he would take it any way he could get it.  


	2. chapter 2

Sherlock snorted in his sleep then jerked awake. It took a moment, but after raising his head to scan the room, he finally remembered where he was. With a heavy sigh, Sherlock dropped his head back to the mattress. John Watson was gone and by the look of the light coming from the window, it was the early afternoon. Sherlock hadn’t slept that late in years.

After another moment, Sherlock rose from the bed. His movements were stiff and slow because of his still tender ribs and aching body. After putting on his shoes and straightening his clothes, Sherlock walked back down the corridor to the door he entered the night before.

It was locked.

“Nothing’s ever easy.” Sherlock said with a sigh as he turned away from the door and looked back down the corridor. The corridor continued past John’s room leading Sherlock to the conclusion that he could find his way back to the main part of the house. With that in mind, Sherlock walked back then continued down the corridor.  

The whole area was unfamiliar to him. When Sherlock came to the end of the hall and could go either left or right, he had no idea which way to turn. Without a layout of the new additions, Sherlock didn’t know which way was right or if it was even possible to get back from this side of the house.

However, Sherlock wasn’t about to go back and confine himself in the hopes that John would return to free him. If there were another way back, he would find it. With that in mind, Sherlock went left and continued on. The first thing he passed was a large window opened to the back of the house.

That was a good sign.

Sherlock was walking in the opposite direction as yesterday. He just needed to find a connecting entrance. What he didn’t expect to find, however, was a wide-open archway leading towards a brightly lit room. One side had several shelves containing miscellaneous bottles and hair care essentials and the other side was a large wall-to-wall mirror. In front of the mirror was a barber’s chair and towards the back was a hair washing station with more stacks of supplies, towels and, miscellaneous things. Near that was a door and a few small couches surrounding a small oak coffee table.

The most unexpected thing out of everything was the woman sweeping underneath the barber’s chair. Sherlock never thought he would ever understand what true shock felt like but he was very wrong. Sherlock swallowed and cleared his throat but his voice still broke as he spoke.

“Mrs. Hudson.” She looked up at the sound of her name and gasped, nearly dropping the broom to the ground. I wide smile broke across Mrs. Hudson’s face as she shuffled over to Sherlock.

“Sherlock is that really you!” Mrs. Hudson grabbed him by the arm and looked him over. “Oh look at you! You’re a mess. Come sit down. We’ll get you sorted.” Sherlock was in a complete daze. He allowed Mrs. Hudson to drag him without any fuss. It wasn’t until he dropped unceremoniously in the Barber’s chair that he snapped out of it and turned his head to look at Mrs. Hudson standing behind him.

“How-” Sherlock sputtered as Mrs. Hudson grabbed the top of his head and turned him to face the mirror.

“Look forward.” Sherlock watched Mrs. Hudson through the mirror as she pulled a cart to her side. She took a spray bottle off the top; shielding Sherlock’s eyes while she dampened his hair. When she began combing the knots out of Sherlock’s curls Sherlock swallowed and attempted to speak again.

“How did you get here?” Mrs. Hudson locked eyes with Sherlock in the mirror before letting out a sigh.

“For all the horrible things you say about that brother of yours, he has a bigger heart than you give him credit for. He picked up several of us; some of the staff from Bart’s and that lovely Detective Inspector-”

“Gavin Lestrade?” Sherlock made an indignant noise when Mrs. Hudson turned his head to face forward again.

“It’s Greg dear.” Sherlock huffed as he slid down in his seat.

“You give my brother too much credit Mrs. Hudson. He was only taking people who were useful to him.”

“What use do I have then?”

“Well, my brother does have an unusual fondness for cakes.” Sherlock made a pained noise as Mrs. Hudson smacked him on the shoulder. Sherlock attempted an annoyed pout but he couldn’t stop the corner of his lip from turning upward at the sound of Mrs. Hudson’s light giggle.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Mrs. Hudson resumed cutting Sherlock’s hair while shaking her head. She let out a sigh and pursed her lips, the smile falling from her face.

“How could you be so foolish Sherlock?” Sherlock swallowed and looked down. “You should have come with us when it started. How could you think you could make it on your own?! It’s a miracle you made it at all! Look at you!”

“Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock’s head was pulled back until he was practically looking up at the ceiling. One hand clenched against the armrest of the chair while the other rose towards his head. Without realizing, Mrs. Hudson had fisted a chunk of Sherlock’s hair and pulled hard with her surging emotions. After taking, a second to process what she was doing Mrs. Hudson released Sherlock, who let out a pained grunt.

“Sorry love.” Sherlock cleared his throat and rubbed at his aching neck.

“It’s fine.” They both remained silent for a long time. The only sound heard was the scissors gliding through Sherlock’s hair. When Mrs. Hudson finished, she brushed the stray hairs from Sherlock’s shoulders and gave his hair one final tousle. She took a step back then threw her towel over her shoulder. She sighed with satisfaction as a warm smile came to her face.

“There we are, much better.” Sherlock stood from the chair slowly then stepped around it to stand in front of Mrs. Hudson. His hair was still wet but the once famed curls were back in their rightful place. With a soft smile on his face, Sherlock grasped Mrs. Hudson by her shoulders and leaned down to peck her on the cheek.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

“The pleasures all mine.” She rubbed Sherlock’s arm then patted his elbow before removing her hand. “I’m glad you’re here Sherlock.” One hand went to her hip as she pointed her finger towards his face. “You better come see me again soon young man.” Sherlock assured Mrs. Hudson he would be back soon and actually meant it.

Per her instruction, he exited her shop by the opposite entrance and found himself in more familiar territory. He was in the far side of the main house. Down the hall was once his father’s vast library. However, when Sherlock was walking past he stopped in surprise when he realized the room was completely different.

The large room had been changed into a cafeteria and there were a surprising number of people inside. When Sherlock was a boy, the space always felt vast and endless but packed with soldiers and household staff, it felt rather small.

The smell of sausage, coffee, and egg suddenly accosted Sherlock’s senses and his stomach clenched painfully. He was so used to going for long periods without eating it hadn’t even occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten in at least two weeks. Sherlock wiped a shaky hand over his mouth and tried to maintain his dignity as he walked over to the chef’s line and grabbed a tray.

However, it was difficult. His body was trembling with sudden hunger and he had to fight the urge to push everyone in front of him out of the way. Sherlock could already tell his barely contained strange behavior was getting him looked at. When he made it to the front of the line Sherlock did everything in his power not to pile his plate with heaps of breakfast foods. The last thing he wanted was to make himself ill.

Sherlock sat at an empty table in the corner and immediately shoveled in a hefty forkful of eggs. He took in a deep breath and shut his eyes as he felt the eggs lie heavy in his stomach. The feeling was so satisfying it helped Sherlock maintain a decent amount of control while consuming the rest of his breakfast.

He was halfway through when he lifted his glass of water and swallowed three refreshing gulps. At that moment, when his eyes looked down the side of the glass, he spotted another table staring at him and whispering. He lowered his glass back to the table and glanced around him while attempting to remain casual. With a clearer head, Sherlock noticed something extremely odd that was going on around him.

The room was packed but his table remained empty. He was being avoided.

However, that didn’t stop nearly every person in the room from staring over their plates and glasses without remorse. Sherlock fully grasped the level of avoidance everyone in the room was taking with a young male soldier eyes periodically glancing at Sherlock’s table while he walked past. Instead of taking, the fastest root right past the table he suddenly turned and squeezed past two tables instead. There was a large space, perfectly suited for use, but everyone avoided it and instead took a difficult route through the room simply because they didn’t want to walk past Sherlock’s table. Almost like there was a force field keeping them at bay.

After taking in enough of their staring Sherlock picked up his plate and deposited it on the conveyor belt behind the chef’s line. As he walked out, he kept his head high ignoring the way people parted for him like the ocean parted for Moses.

 

* * *

 

As Sherlock walked down the stairs in the foyer, he caught a glimpse of Mycroft disappearing through the left hallway.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock scuttled down the stairs and jogged after him. As he entered the left hall and continued down, he just managed to see Mycroft slip into the pool, which was now the central meeting room. Sherlock jogged to the door, stopping slightly ahead then walked the rest of the way. The door was closed now and two soldiers were standing in front of it. As Sherlock approached, they glanced sideways at each other before looking back towards him. Before Sherlock could speak the woman, standing to the left of the door cut him off.

“This room is for officers only.”

“Yes, well my brother is Mycroft Holmes, you see. I’m sure Mycroft will allow me inside if you just inform him of my arrival.” The female soldier glanced to the man on her left who let out a sigh before he spoke.

“We’re aware who you are Mr. Holmes, however, the meetings are for high ranking officers only. We can’t let out in.” Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but the man in front of him cut him off. He was smirking as he sized Sherlock up. “Why don’t you return to your quarters? You’ll want to be well rested when the captain calls for you.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and turned around swiftly to prevent the two guards from seeing the deep shade of red crawling up his neck. Word clearly spread quickly among the former Holmes residents current occupants and everyone was very aware of the circumstances surrounding Sherlock’s ability to remain there. However, Sherlock lived his entire life being judged by others and he wasn’t about to let the imbecilic thoughts of the majority affect him now. They believed he had no value other than providing the captain somewhere to stick his cock. Well, he would just have to prove them wrong.

Sherlock went back to his room but only for a quick change and a shower. As he was leaving he stopped to stare a moment at his coat before grabbing it and pulling it on. The second the heavy material weighed down his shoulders he felt more secure, more like himself. As he marched out of his room, Sherlock took hold of the collar and popped it up towards his ears. He walked with his head high and went straight towards the corridor that was now marked “LABS.” Maybe they could blow him off as a strategist but as a graduate chemist Sherlock was sure, they would take him serious as a scientist.

Unfortunately, even Sherlock was wrong in some instances.

Sherlock stumbled back into the hall as the head scientist unceremoniously pushed him out of the lab. He let out an annoyed growl as he caught himself on the wall then turned around to bang his fist on the door just as it slammed in his face.

“If you lot want to continue botching your precious experiments then that’s fine by me!” When the door remained locked, Sherlock let out a noise of frustration and kicked the door. His coat fluttered behind him as he marched back down the hall then veered left towards the back gardens. Sherlock shoved the door open. Caring little for the dent he probably put in the wood as it banged against the brick wall.

Sherlock walked and walked and continued walking until he reached the old oak tree a few acres into the property. He stopped in front of it and looked up, surprised to find the tree house his father had built was still there. It was old, and barely holding itself together but it was still there even after so many years.

With a sigh, Sherlock walked over to the tree and plopped down underneath it. He drew his knees in close and rested his head against the rough bark. Sherlock flexed his fingers against his knees still feeling his mind raising and his body brimming with energy.

How long had he been here? Maybe a little less than 24 hours and he was already getting bored.

It wasn’t just that he had nothing to stimulate himself with but it seemed that he wasn’t even allowed. Not only was he not trusted with the activities of this faction but he wasn’t even trusted to do what he was best at. It was simply an insult. Sherlock couldn’t believe that his status as concubine affected him so much. He couldn’t believe that he was expected to do nothing but sit in his room and wait for the faction’s precious captain to come fuck him. Sherlock would drive himself up the wall in a matter of days living a tediously repetitive life like that. If he wasn’t ready to do it already.

Living in the wild Sherlock was constantly distracted by the need to survive but was desperately alone. Now people, most who avoid him, surround him and he doesn’t even have anything to distract himself with.

It seemed the only real benefit at the moment was food and the body in his bed at night.

When Sherlock heard a twig break, he shot up from the ground and turned towards the noise. His heart rate skyrocketed and his eyes became wild. Clearly, the survival instincts were hard to break. Peeking out from just behind the tree was a faction soldier. He was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. His most noticeable feature was the scar covering one side of his face. The scar disappeared past his shirt collar and Sherlock could tell it continued further downward, considering it reappeared over his hand, which appeared to be only partially functional.

The man held his hands up and stepped out from behind the tree. He kept his distance, clearly trying not to corner Sherlock.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. My name is James Sholto.” Sherlock scanned the man for a second before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re a Major. But not the commanding officer? Why?” Sholto’s eyebrows shot up. He dropped his arms to his side and stood up straight.

“How-”

“The badges on your uniform.” Sholto glanced down at his jacket while Sherlock continued to speak. “They indicate your military ranking but they are the markings from the British army, so before the fall of the government. One would think that you had maintained your status if you were still wearing your badges however you are not the current commander.” Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded his head in sudden understanding. “Ah, I see now. Sentiment. You are Major in name only but not in position. A sign of respect. You were the current commander’s commanding officer during their time in the war.”

“Well.” Sholto crossed his arms across his chest and let out a small chuckle. “That’s an interesting trick.”

“It’s not a trick.” Sherlock huffed. When the Major took a step towards him, he took a step back. Sherlock was suddenly reminded how isolated they were. “Out for a stroll?” Sherlock tracked Sholto as he gazed at their surroundings. When he stepped up to the tree he lightly placed his hand against it then dropped his hand back to his side as he sauntered past Sherlock.

“You could say that.” Sholto stopped walking a few steps away from Sherlock. “This is a large place, you family has here. I walk through at least once a day to make sure everything’s in order. It also gives me a chance to clear my head. It gets a bit boring being stuck here. “Sholto turned towards Sherlock with a smirk. “You bored here already Mr. Holmes?”

“I agree it is rather dull.” Sherlock let out a sigh attempting to give the appearance of nonchalance but he didn’t miss the atmosphere change or the way the Major continued to put him more on edge. Outwardly, James Sholto seemed like the professional military type, but there was a burning fire underneath that made Sherlock’s body vibrate with anxiety and his heart pick up speed.

When the Major completely turned around, Sherlock stood up straighter and held his head higher in order to hide his rising discomfort. The man walked back towards him and placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. It took every ounce of Sherlock’s strength not to flinch.

“I’m sure you and I will find something interesting to occupy our time. Good day, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock watched Sholto’s retreating form until he was out of sight.  

 

* * *

 

When dinnertime arrived, Sherlock almost considered skipping but he found that he couldn’t bear skipping a meal.

Funny how things have changed.

Just as Sherlock expected everyone avoided him and watched him. It was almost incredible how unapologetic everyone seemed to be about their staring but then again that may just reflect the lack of respect Sherlock had.

 In order to avoid prolonged exposure to their gazes, Sherlock ate as quickly as he could manage and retreated to his room. As he lay in his bed, he refused to think about his boredom or his brother or the Major or the stares or John Watson or the fact that in a twisted way he wished John Watson would come for him already.

Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to force himself to sleep. He would visit Mrs. Hudson in the morning. And maybe even Stamford if he could find the time.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock's eyes shot open to banging on his bedroom door. He rubbed his hand over his face and shook the sleep from his head as he groggily climbed out of bed. The banging continued until he wrenched the door open. When he realized who was on the other side Sherlock was suddenly wide away.

“Commander Watson. Was there something I could assist you with? ” Sherlock stepped aside as John strode into the room. He quietly shut the door then watched the other man who was taking in the surroundings.

“Just John is fine.” John turned his head to look at Sherlock. He eyed Sherlock up and down while his lip twitched upward. “And you could say so.” John walked straight over to the bed and sat at the end of it. He bent over and untied his boots then threw them across the room after pulling them off. Sherlock still stood by the door, just watching. “I was stuck in meetings all day yesterday.” John began unbuttoning his shirt. The muscles of his shoulders flexing as he contorted to pull the garment off. “I have an hour this morning. Let’s just say I’d like to blow off some steam.”

When John jerked his head towards the bed Sherlock snapped out of his daze and walked towards him. Before he could do or say anything John was grabbing him by the waist and flipping him onto his back. A dark-eyed and shirtless John loomed over Sherlock as he frantically pulled on the curly haired man’s belt. When Sherlock’s trousers were, loose enough John reached underneath Sherlock’s body and fisted the back of Sherlock’s trousers and pants to pull both garments clean off.

Sherlock’s shirt received the same quick treatment. Luckily, John’s nimble fingers were able to open the buttons without ripping the garment. Now that Sherlock was completely naked, John stood back up and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a tube of lube and tossed it to Sherlock, who barely managed to catch it without getting hit in the face.

“Finger yourself.” Sherlock swallowed then nodded. He crawled up the bed until his head rested on the pillows. He watched John, who stood at the end of the bed removing the rest of his clothes while he spread his own legs and squirt some lube onto his fingers.

The push of his first finger was strange but it was a feeling he was quickly starting to remember. Sherlock wasn’t a stranger to this part of his body. He had done this in the past but it had been many years since so working up to that third finger took more time than it used to.

Sherlock hadn’t realized he shut his eyes until he felt a warm hand cover his knee. When he opened them, John was staring between his legs.

“About ready Mr. Holmes?” John met Sherlock’s eyes as he rubbed his hand down his thigh.

“Sherlock is fine.” John smirked. He slowly crawled up Sherlock’s body taking Sherlock’s response for a yes. As soon as Sherlock removed, his fingers from his stretched opening John’s member was there covered with a condom. Sherlock had clearly missed him putting it on. Sherlock gasped when the head of John’s cock suddenly pushed in. Then his back was arching and a drawn out moan was escaping both their lips when John pushed in, in one fluid motion a second later.

“Shit.” John adjusted his hands by Sherlock’s head then pulled nearly all the way out and plunged back in hard. Sherlock gasped with the feeling of it while the force pushed him a little bit up the bed. John spread his knees wide and continued slamming his hips hard. Sherlock jolted up with ever thrust unable to contain the gasping breaths pushed from his throat.

Eventually, Sherlock’s head was forced against the headboard. He grunted in discomfort as his head contorted sideways to prevent the top of his head from repeatedly banging against the wood. He attempted to place his palm up for support but it did nothing as John’s thrusting picked up.

“Fuck! That’s it, that’s it. Take it.” John grabbed the headboard with one hand and held Sherlock’s hip with the other. “Take. My. Fucking. Dick.” John was breathing hard as he hissed his words between clenched teeth. His taught balls slapped against the skin of Sherlock’s shaking ass while scratch marks formed on Sherlock’s hip. While John’s loud grunts and groans reverberated across the room Sherlock’s own voice was muffled. His shoulders were pressed against the headboard with his neck twisted to the side. His entire head had managed to become buried under the mound of pillows at the top of the bed with only below his chest visible.

John gasped and his body shook when he finally came. He thrust his hips a few more times than grinded them in a circular motion. His body convulsed and his butt clenched for a few more minutes with his orgasm.

John pulled out slowly and collapsed on his back next to Sherlock. He covered his eyes and just laid there while he attempted to regain his composer. Sherlock unburied himself from underneath the pillows and grunted while he shifted down so his neck wasn’t at such an odd angle. He didn’t come but he didn’t say anything about it. His job was to give the man next to him pleasure. That didn’t necessarily mean he would get it in return.

The two men were silent for a long time. The only sound in the room was the sound of breathing. Sherlock picked at the skin of his nails unsure what he was supposed to do. Would John leave? Should he leave? It was his room but there was no reason he needed to stay. His musings were cut short by the sound of movement beside him. He was sure John was getting ready to leave but then the other man spoke.

“James told me about the trick you did.” Sherlock glanced over towards John with a questioning eyebrow. The shorter man was leaning with his back against the headboard, not even bothering to cover his naked body. Sherlock looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. It looks like they were talking now.

“It’s not a trick.”

“Oh?”

“I _observe_.” Sherlock glanced sideways at John before clearing his throat and looking away. “There’s no trickery involved. In fact, I observed that before the fall of the British government you were an army doctor who was wounded in action.” John sat forward and twisted around so he was facing Sherlock. He crossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees so he could look down at the other man’s face.

“Alright, I’ll bite. How did you **_observe_** that?” Sherlock scowled at the ceiling and chose to ignore John’s teasing tone. He was being underestimated. The corner of Sherlock’s lip twitched up in a smile as he watched the other man from the corner of his eye. If John wanted a deduction, Sherlock would give him one.

“I could go on about how your hair cut and the way you hold yourself tells me you are a military man but that’s unnecessary when even you can spot the obvious.” Sherlock looked over to John who raised an eyebrow at the implication he was less intelligent.

“Oh? What’s obvious then?”

“You go by Captain John Watson. Obvious.” Sherlock looked back up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Clearly not a master of deduction I see.”

“Oi, hang on. How do you know that has anything to do with my army days? I could have become a Captain when I joined the rebels.” John sat up straighter looking smug but Sherlock was quick to wipe the expression from his face.

“No.”

“No?”

“You are the Commander of the Rebel Army. You would have been given a higher ranking then Captain. This faction is made up of your war colleagues. Any references made to Military ranks is for sentimental reasons only, which is why you are able to outrank James Sholto even though he is a Major and you are a Captain. This faction has no official military ranks.”

“Fine then.” John pursed his lip and thought a moment. “What about the doctor bit? How did you know I was a doctor?” John narrowed his eyes when Sherlock smirked.

“Your hands.” John blinked at Sherlock.

“My hands?”

“You have doctor’s hands. Surgeon’s, to be more specific.”

“You stare at my hands do you?” The smirk on John’s face was extremely suggestive. Sherlock frowned and looked away. He attempted to will away the burning sensation that was working its way up his neck to his cheeks but he could tell by the chuckle John released that it wasn’t working. John’s smirk fell from his face as he continued to stare at Sherlock, who was still looking away from him. After a moment, he cleared his throat, looking down at the bed sheet as he picked at it with his fingers.

“The injury.” Sherlock turned back to John and stared at him questioningly. “How’d you know about that then?”

“You are clearly left handed but you favor your right side and your right thigh is slightly thicker than your left. You had a limp in the past but you walk perfectly fine now. So, you injured your left arm and you had a psychosomatic limp. Army doctor traumatically wounded in action.” John let out a sound of understanding and nodded. He was silent for a moment before he fell back against the headboard with a long sigh.

“You make all that sound so simple.”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot.” John sat up to look at Sherlock.

“Oi!” Sherlock raised his hand and waved it in a placating gesture.

“Oh don’t worry I tell everyone they’re idiots. You’ll get used to it.” John fell back against the headboard with a small laugh. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.

“What did you do then?” When Sherlock made a questioning sound John continued. “Before everything happened.” Sherlock let out a long sigh.

“I was a chemist and a consulting detective.”

“What’s that then?”

“I caught criminals for Scotland Yard when they were out of their depth.” Sherlock let out another sigh. “Life was less boring back then.”

“You know normal people prefer not having to worry about getting shot at.”

“Normal people are dull. Spending every waking hour with mind numbing nothingness is torture. I’d rather be shot at.” John pursed his lips and nodded. He stared at Sherlock for a moment before he turned his head to check the time.

“Well, I better get to it.” John crawled out of bed and dressed. He ruffled his hair a bit and left without looking back or sparing another word to Sherlock. Once he was gone, Sherlock let out a sigh and climbed out of bed as well. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, and dressed for the day as he usually would.

When he was ready, he was prepared to spend another day attempting to occupy his time and avoid boredom. However, when he opened his bedroom door there was a sound of metal clanking against wood. Sherlock looked at the door and found a key hanging from a short string had been taped to the door. Next to the key was a note, which read:

_“Not as exciting as getting shot at but maybe you’ll be a little less bored. Try not to burn down the place.”_

_-JW_

Sherlock pulled the key from the door and held it up in his hands. Inscribed on the side was one word and a number “LABS 23.” Sherlock closed his hand around the key and held it tightly in his palm while the corner of his mouth twitched up with a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> my tumblr is sequelhook(.)tumblr(.)com if you want to get in contact with me.


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